


Requited Regrets

by CherryMilkshake



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4379702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryMilkshake/pseuds/CherryMilkshake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Either you have an enviable memory, or a pitiable life, to know nothing of regret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gentle Touches

**Author's Note:**

> A story in three parts.

Vhenari stared at the rose in her hand.

"I remember thinking, 'How could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?" Alistair wasn't looking directly at her, but rather at the rose, his cheeks nearly as red as its petals. 

Vhenari swallowed, her throat tight, as he continued on, unaware.

"I thought that I might… give it to you, actually. In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you."

She made a joke, deflecting, desperately trying to assure herself that Alistair was not making romantic overtures. The humans she'd met so far had been very strange, after all. She didn't want to make assumptions, especially with Alistair. 

But he still barrelled on. "I thought I could tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this… darkness."

Mythal's mercy, his eyes, shining and hopeful on his reddened face, found hers, and there was no longer any room for doubt. 

Vhenari winced and pushed the rose back toward him. "I'm not interested, Alistair. I'm sorry."

His shoulders rose, his eyes now fixed somewhere near his feet. "Oh," he said in a small voice. "I. I had thought that. Well, it. It doesn't matter what I thought, does it?" He swallowed. "Could you… tell me why?"

She sighed, fought back the urge to stroke his arm in comfort. She crossed her arms instead. "Alistair, it's not your fault. It's nothing you did or didn't do. It's just, I can't see you in that way." She rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand, feeling the smooth texture of the vallaslin in contrast with the weather-worn roughness of her skin. "You are a good man, gentle and kind. Once the Blight is ended and the world comes back to some sense of normalcy, you'll find someone, and you will be happy."

He didn't seem to believe her.

"Take your rose back. I bet Wynne has a nice big book you could press it in. Then you'd have something beautiful to keep for a long time, right?"

He shook his head. "No, keep it. It's a gift for you, after all. I'm just… I'm just going to go back to my tent."

His footsteps crunched in the dry grass of the approaching winter, and his tent flap fluttered closed. Anxious, Vhenari watched until she saw Wynne slip inside behind him, then returned to her post at the edge of camp, staring out into the dark night.

More footsteps. Someone sat down beside her. "Well," Zevran said amiably. "That was horribly awkward for all involved."

Vhenari looked over at him, eyebrow raised. "You do know it's rude to eavesdrop on private conversations, don't you?"

"In this camp, privacy is a thing often spoken of, though not a thing actually gotten."

She snorted. "You have a point." She turned the rose over in her hands, wondering how Alistair had kept it from getting crushed in his pack on their numerous adventures, and wondering how she had allowed his affection to get so far without her knowing.

Zevran nudged her with his shoulder. "You know that it's not your fault that he mistook your kindness for romantic attraction, yes?" 

"But I should have realized he had been misunderstanding me. He's a good man, and handsome certainly, but." She pressed her thumb against one of the thorns. "But he's innocent in things like this. I don't want to be anyone's first."

"Why not?" Zevran smirked. "You could mold him to your liking, make him into your perfect lover."

She shook her head, her expression still serious. "First loves rarely last, and I think a first relationship colors how you view them all for the rest of your life. I don't want that kind of pressure at a time like this, even if it's just pressure from myself onto myself."

"I don't know if that's true," Zevran said thoughtfully, taking her free hand into his and massaging the palm with his thumbs. "I barely remember _my_ first time. All I know is that I came far too early, and definitely did not get laughed at."

She chuckled then, watching his hands move against hers. "I didn't mean your first time in bed with someone, I meant your first _relationship_ , you know, where you love them so much it makes you want to die a little."

"That sounds horrible. I think I will stick to my bed relationships." He finished with the one hand, and gestured for the other. Vhenari obliged.

"Oh, it's not so bad," she said. Her expression darkened. "Until it ends, of course. Then, it's horrible."

Zevran looked up at her, probably waiting for her to explain, but that wound was still too raw. She stayed quiet. Zevran didn't pry, just continued to rub small circles against the bow calluses on her hands. She was glad it had been him to come, and not Wynne or Leliana. She'd be crying already if it had been one of them.

"Zevran, you grew up in a human city," she said after a while.

"I did indeed. Why?"

"Are all humans so… strange about touching? Because I was thinking about it, and perhaps part of the reason he got the wrong idea is because of that?"

"Hm… The humans I knew in Antiva City were a very tactile people, but I _have_ noticed that the Fereldans can be quite distant." He nodded toward Alistair's tent, where he and Wynne were now sitting outside, nearly an arm's length apart, even though they were relatively close and Wynne was comforting him. Vhenari just didn't understand it.

Zevran finished with her hand and set it into her lap, fingers brushing against her thigh. "Just to make sure, that thing you do, where you call me handsome and invite me to your tent, that _is_ flirting, right?"

Vhenari laughed. "Yes, it is indeed."

"Good to know. I would hate if we had some sort of misunderstanding."

She smiled and patted his arm. "No, no misunderstanding here. And if Alistair weren't right there…" She sighed.

He stroked her hair. "Another time, Warden. I will be here. Don't fret."

"Keep watch with me? I need some company right now."

He scooted closer, their shoulders just touching. "Not a problem."


	2. Nobody's First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran has his own gift to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part is very short.

Taliesen lay dead on the stairs in a back alley of Denerim, far from the warm sun and the gentle rains of Antiva City. The alley smelled of garbage and dog. 

Zevran wiped his blade clean, his eyes fixed on the blood oozing from Taliesen's throat, the Warden's arrow cut neatly through it. He didn't know how to feel, if he should feel anything at all. 

A hand rested on his arm. "Zevran?" the Warden asked. "Are you alright?"

"Honestly, this is what I was hoping for," he said, trying for cheerful, but he felt like he undershot by a few meters. "The Crows will assume I'm dead along with Taliesen. For now, I am free of them."

She smiled, the lines of her intricate tattoos curving up under her eyes as she did. "That's good, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes it is." But Taliesen's corpse still drew his eye. "I find myself unsure of what to do with my newfound freedom, however." He looked at her, a part of him asking for her to tell him to stay, hold him to his oath. 

"You should do what's best for you, Zevran," she said instead. "If you would rather leave Ferelden and go somewhere they won't find you…"

Did that mean she was asking him to go? His heart hammered in his chest. "I… Have never really been given a choice before," he said uncertainly. "Could I… stay? Is that good?"

She smiled. "Well, it would be hard to kiss you if you went, now wouldn't it?" She pulled his head to hers, her lips warm and familiar. The earring he had kept for so long burned in his pocket. 

But the picture of her sad expression lingered in his mind, as she sat at the edge of camp, holding Alistair's gift like it was poisoned. _This is all she wants from you,_ a small voice in his heart whispered. _She has more important things to worry about than you._

They broke apart, and she patted his cheek fondly. "It's good to have you around, Zevran," she said. 

He took her hand where it sat against his face. "It is good to be here, dear Warden," he answered. 

They burned Taliesen's body, and moved on.


	3. In Death, Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran liked to joke that they were going to die. But he always thought it would be him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that Major Character Death tag?

Denerim was even more of a mess than it had been before. Vhenari hadn't explained why Morrigan left, and it didn't look like she was going to. "Alistair, Wynne, Zevran, you're with me," she said. "We have to get to Fort Drakon and the archdemon. Hopefully, Riordan will be able to slay it, but if not…" She looked at Alistair, who nodded grimly. She turned to Zevran. "You have to leave the final blow to one of us, do you understand?"

He inclined his head. "I do not know why, but I understand."

"Good. Wynne, you too."

"Of course," she said. 

Vhenari took a deep breath and turned to the giant, looming over her in shining armor. "Sten, you're in charge out here. Look after them." 

He nodded. "You could make no better choice," he rumbled.

She looked at the city gates. "Let's go."

\--

Chaos. Fighting darkspawn was familiar at this point, but never _this many_. They washed over the group in wave after wave, and it was all Zevran could do to hover near Vhenari and let her get as many shots off as possible. Most of them went down with one good arrow from her, but only if she had room to draw.

Sweat poured down his face from the heat of the fires and the splash of blood from the darkspawn. He could hear Wynne yelling as she cast healing magic as quickly as she could, keeping them all standing. Alistair was drawing in as many as he could, smashing them to the ground with his shield, swiping at them with his sword.

They were almost to the fort.

An emissary appeared from around the corner, a burning spell hitting Zevran's cheek. He snarled, but stayed near Vhenari as she turned to fire at it, while Alistair ran off to confront it head on. Wynne's magic enveloped him, taking away the sting. 

The emissary fell at Alistair's feet. "You okay, Zevran?" Vhenari asked quickly, her eyes scanning for more darkspawn in the immediate vicinity.

"Fine, Warden. To the fort?"

She nodded once. "To the fort!" she yelled to Alistair.

He raised his shield in answer and began going up the steps.

A roar got their attention and they all looked up as the archdemon swooped passed, shrieking. "It's wounded!" Alistair and Vhenari yelled together. All of them watched intently as the dragon banked left and right, thrashing to rid itself of something on its back.

"Come on, Riordan," Vhenari murmured.

The dragon smashed itself into one of the palace's towers. A small figure fell from its back.

"No!" Alistair cried, his voice hoarse and desparate. 

Vhenari looked, for a second, terrified. But her expression steeled immediately. "Let's go, Alistair, Wynne," she said, and opened the vast doors. 

It was so strange, being here again. Of course, it was full of darkspawn now, not easily distracted guardsmen. 

Finally, the rooftop. And the archdemon. 

Blood poured from wounds on its back and wings, and it could no longer fly. This was good.

Vhenari gestured to the mages coming up behind them, pointed them to positions away from the beast, but still close enough to fire upon it. 

"Alistair, try and keep its attention on you. Don't let it get you in its jaws though." 

He laughed nervously, raising his pauldroned shoulders to cover his neck. "No problem."

"Get underneath it," she told Zevran. "Aim for its back legs. Hound it. Don't get stepped on."

"As you say." 

He ran off, but not before he heard her say, "Wynne, keep them alive."

The dragon called other darkspawn to it as they fought, and though it could not fly, it could hop, leading to ridiculous chasing about as it thrashed and spit black fire at the mages and Vhenari. Zevran's arms and legs burned with exertion, but he fought on, bolstered by Wynne's magic and Vhenari's barked orders over the sounds of battle.

Finally, the dragon trembled and collapsed, Zevran dodging out from underneath it before it fell. Alistair and Vhenari were having a tense conversation.

"Let me save you for once," Alistair was saying, hands clutched tight on her shoulders. "Please."

Vhenari shook her head, removing his hands gently. "Alistair, you have a home to return to. I do not."

"I don't! I'm the only other Grey Warden in Ferelden, same as you!"

"Alistair, please." Her voice was soft. "I need to do this."

Zevran tried to move faster, too tired to understand why they were talking like. Like.

Vhenari grabbed a sword from the ground and began charging at the struggling archdemon. Alistair winced and looked away as her blow hit true, and she slid along its neck, before stabbing the blade deep into its head. 

Light poured from the wound. She began to scream.

Zevran tried to run to her side, but Alistair's hand closed around his arm. "What is happening?!" he demanded. 

The light swelled, growing brighter and brighter until it began to hum. 

"Tell me!" Zevran yelled.

The light turned to force in a massive explosion. Zevran and Alistair, along with presumably everyone else, were knocked to the ground.

Slowly, cheering began to echo throughout the city. The archdemon was dead. The darkspawn were fleeing.

But Alistair was crying.

Zevran stood up and made his way to where Vhenari had been. She appeared mostly uninjured, nothing but a few cuts and bruises to show for the intense battle. He knelt down and touched her shoulder. "Hey," he said. "We won. You did it, Warden."

She didn't respond.

"Warden," he said again, louder. "Vhenari, wake up. It's over. We can go."

Wynne, leaning heavily on her staff, appeared beside him. "Zevran…" she said gently, reaching down to touch his shoulder.

He shook her off. "No! Vhenari, wake up. Surely you have more important things to do than lie here! You are covered in dragon; it smells awful. Let's get you cleaned up at the arl's estate, yes?"

No breath came forth from her lips. 

Zevran's stomach clenched. Though the pounding of his heart in his ears, he could hear Alistair gasping for air as he sobbed.

"Wynne," Zevran croaked. "Wynne, you need to help her."

Her arms wrapped around him as she knelt beside him. "There is no magic to cure death, Zevran," she said. There were tears in her voice too.

"But why? What happened? She was fine, and then…"

She sighed, dropping her head. "I do not know the magic at work here. But I think she knew this would happen."

Zevran said nothing. He knew she had. Alistair had as well. 

There was a clattering on the stairs as Bann Teagan and his men came up to see the aftermath of the battle. Zevran watched, numb, as they raised her body up onto their shoulders, singing her praises.

She would have been annoyed they kept invoking the Maker and Andraste.

Wynne went to see to Alistair. Zevran watched the two of them follow the procession, unsure if he wanted to go as well. 

Eventually, he rose to his feet and followed at a distance. They brought her to the palace, where the new queen shed tears. Zevran didn't know how sincere they were. He didn't really care.

He was given a beautiful guest room to stay in by himself, but he couldn't sleep. He ended up pacing back to the room where her body lay spread out over a table, waiting for the next day's funeral.

He pulled the earring out of his pocket, twirling it between his fingers as he looked at her. Walking up the table, he opened up the pouch at her hip, where she had kept her most important possessions. A necklace of wooden beads, each one carved like a different animal; a ring made of soft gray wood, decorated with foxes and rabbits; a silver chain with a small blood-red glass pendant at the end. (When Zevran moved it, the pendant shimmered. Was it actually blood inside?) The head of a rose, pressed and sealed between two pieces of glass.

Zevran swallowed back the lump that threatened to close his throat. "I hate that I was too much of a coward to give this to you before, my dear Warden," he whispered. He put the earring into the pouch and closed it. "But you should take it with you regardless. Really, it's no trouble. Just a thank you for everything you've done for me." His voice cracked. He clutched the table's edge to stop the shaking in his hands. "Everything you _did_ for me."

When he thought of the funeral that would surely be held the next day, he just knew that the Maker and Andraste would be on everyone's lips. Gods that she didn't believe in. He could just picture her face.

Each time they'd been in a Chantry, she had kept up a kind smile, her words honeyed, but when they'd left, she'd scrunched up her nose like she had bitten something sour. "Mythal's mercy," she would grumble. "'Maker' this, 'Andraste' that. At least our gods didn't leave us because we didn't _praise_ them enough. Why would they worship a jerk like that?" 

And that would cue Leliana or Wynne to start. After the first few times, it had become a bit of a game. 

They were happy memories. 

But Zevran didn't want to think of them at the moment. The memory he brought up was a sad one. As they were traveling from Haven to Redcliffe with the Ashes, the camp had been attacked by darkspawn. But one of them had once been a man of Vhenari's clan, a man named Tamlen.

After the camp was safe, she had stood over his body a long time in silence, before beginning to dig. She asked for no help, and refused any offer of it. Once he'd been buried, she had walked into the woods and returned with a seed, which she planted in the soil.

"May Falon'Din carry you to your final rest, lethallin," she had said then, and Zevran repeated those words now. 

It wasn't much. He didn't know enough to perform any of the proper rites. "I will plant a tree for you," he said finally. "It won't be over you, like you would want. I think they're going to take you to Weisshaupt to go with the other Warden heroes, and everyone knows nothing grows in the Anderfels. But I will plant a tree for you. Somewhere beautiful."

And that would have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The items in her pouch were the [Heirloom Necklace](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Heirloom_Necklace), the [Keeper's Ring](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Keeper%27s_Ring), the [Warden's Oath](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Warden%27s_Oath), and Alistair's Rose.


End file.
